Gotham Tales
by SavvyJackie
Summary: A collection of drabbles, poems and short stories concerning the Batman world. Will mention/feature different characters. Genres and ratings might vary depending on the chapter.
1. Chase in the Night

_**This fanfiction is something you can call miscellaneous Batman-related things. It's just a random collection of poems, short stories, drabbles and whatnots that oftentimes won't relate to each other and are their own thing. This first piece of writing is what I thought would make a good prologue to the start of a Joker fanfic. I had this vivid idea in my head and just wrote it all down, caught up in a moment of passion.**_

_** Enjoy! **_

* * *

**Prologue**

The sirens of police cars were wailing in the distance, the noise reaching every ear within a one mile radius. Most of those who heard were awakened from their sleep and fear encompassed their hearts, making them wonder if the situation was serious enough to turn the television on at two o'clock in the morning. Nothing apart from this was making a disturbance in the heart of Gotham city. If it wasn't for the fact that criminals were always lurking about, the mood would feel much different. On a night without the sirens, you would notice how still the air was, and how it'd be so silent you could hear a pin drop.

But tonight was not such a night.

The clear sky allowed the bright light of a half-full moon to reveal the events unfolding below. The police cars were speeding through the streets of the city, making sharp turns that provoked unpleasant screeching sounds, trying not to lose sight of their target. The stolen car they were pursuing was an insidiously black color, making it harder to make out from its already-dark surroundings.

Although the chasers had their guns loaded and gripped tightly in one of their hands or sitting safely in their holsters, they knew it would be pointless to shoot now. The escaping man was driving far too recklessly and speedily to allow them a good shot. Usually, such recklessness was not something they had to deal with, but the driver of that car was anything but usual.

His gloved hands grasped the wheel with such strong force it could've broken a human hand. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. Excitement. He could barely contain his joy as he veered the car in all directions, not knowing where he was going. Not caring. Why should he? Stuff like this was always much more fun when it was..._unpredictable. _And a game of cat and mouse with the cops was something he enjoyed doing, wanting to see how long they would keep going until they realized they couldn't catch him. Knowing they were too blind to see that men like him couldn't be stopped. No matter how many times they cuffed his hands or locked him up behind their iron bars or tried to make him follow their _rules._ Least of all their _rules…_

That was the sad thing about this world.

Speaking of rules…

He saw a bright yellow police tape stretched from one side of the street to the other up ahead. As the car came closer, he could see it was tied to two adjacent street lamps. Where any normal person would immediately step on the breaks, he just kept going. When he was only a couple of yards from the closed-in region, he could just make out the writing in dark, capital letters on the thin, shiny plastic: "DO NOT ENTER."

Hysterical laughter erupted from the man's mouth as he read the words and a split-second later, the vehicle broke through the tape like someone who just finished a marathon. The same kind of euphoria the marathon winner would feel overcame the driver. Giggling, he said, "Whoops!"

The road became bumpy now. In fact, there seemed to be no solid road at all. He was in the middle of a construction site and the car jumped and skidded as well as managed to knock down several orange cones in the way. The police cars behind followed despite facing the same obstacles.

The car thief had bumped his head against the car top a few times now, but ignored the pain. In fact, he welcomed it. The way his vision slightly blurred was thrilling- he couldn't even see where he was going. If he had a few more scars to be put on display, then so be it. But no other scars could possibly steal more attention that the ones proudly displayed on his face. A long Glasgow smile stretched from one cheek to the other in an uneven, jagged manner. His tongue quickly swiped at it now, feeling its texture and tasting the blood red lipstick that accented it. It gave the illusion that the scars were still bleeding and raw. He liked it.

The lipstick was not the only part of his face's cosmetic complexion. His already-dark brown eyes were surrounded by uneven, black circles that stretched to the temples. Both colors sat on a whole layer of chalk-white warpaint, although it sometimes blended together with the other colors. Every wrinkle of his skin resembled a crack in the pavement, and if he did not reapply it after a few good hours, it would begin to fade and reveal the real color of the skin on his face to match that of his neck, where the makeup stopped.

His hair was another thing. The wavy strands were separated and greasy, partially because they were often unwashed, and partially because they were practically covered in the toxic chemicals of a dark green hairspray. The length was just above the shoulders, broad shoulders that were often hunched and carried the weight of a dark purple trench coat that made the clown-resembled attire all the more so. It was long, and if the man was standing, it would reach just below the calves.

This is one of the reason's he was memorable. No one could forget such a get-up. Some shuddered when they thought of it, some were in awe, and some just though it was ridiculous. But he didn't care. He stood out from the rest of the world. He wasn't like them, the "ordinary" people. He understood things. They though he was trying to gain power. They though he was crazy. A monster. But he wasn't any of those things. All he wanted was to send a message, to make them understand that you can't control people. It was in a human's nature to corrupt and _be _corrupted. And eventually, everything _snaps. _And _breaks. _And you can try to glue all the fallen pieces together, but the outcome will never be the same. The scars will remain. And the problem was, everyone tried so desperately to hide them. He didn't. He embraced the flaws. And maybe one day they would too. He wouldn't stop his chaotic ways even if every citizen in Gotham sunk to their knees and begged for mercy, because that wasn't the point.

He could just imagine laughing in their faces at their naivety. Their confused and scared expressions as he pressed a knife against their throats. Told them things they didn't want to hear. Killed them when he saw fear in their eyes. Never had he had a chance to hold back because he saw a gleam of understanding in their eyes instead; a hint of madness.

Except this one time.

* * *

_**Well?**_

_**I hope you enjoyed that. Please review and leave your thoughts! Joker is my favorite character, so you'll probably see more of him from me later (a lot more, actually)! This was based off of Ledger's Joker, as you can probably tell.**_

_**Until next time!**_


	2. Morning Light

**_Warning: this is my first ever drabble. I salute everyone who writes them because it is_**** not easy. ****_They are not as appreciated as they should be. This was just an experiment with one. Hopefully I did alright._**

* * *

He was sleeping soundly. Bruises of different colors adorned his upper body, the rest hidden under the sheets.

Occasionally, he muttered something in his sleep.

"Daddy?"

A small hand touched his arm. He made no movement.

She tried again, tapping with a tad more force.

His eyes fluttered open. He lifted his head, confused and squinting from the harshness of the morning light. He saw her and his expression softened.

"What are you doing up, sweetie?" Bruce sat up and extended out his arms. She stepped forward and gladly accepted the embrace.

"It's morning, Daddy."

He smiled. "Is it?"

* * *

**_I always loved the idea of Bruce having a daughter. I might write more like these later. Tell me what you think._**


	3. Nitrous Oxide

**_Well, this is something...different. I guess you can call it a poem, or better yet: short snippets of things to create one idea. I like it. I like the Joker, too. Enjoy!_**

* * *

A boom.

A splat.

An _explosion._

Nitrous oxide.

Laugh. Laugh, laugh, laugh. (_Ha-ha-ha-ha.)_

The shiny blade. Silver. Sharp ends.

Let's use some _gasoline._

Fire. Burning. Ashes. _Chaos._

Oh, the chaos. Oh, how _exhilarating_.

The screams. Blood on that shiny blade. Fresh first, then dry.

Do you want to know…why I use a knife?

Guns. More guns. More bullets. I _need _more bullets.

Out of cartridge. No one else has cartridge.

Useless goons.

First the white. Then the black. Then the _red _to the scars. Perfect. They'll like it.

Some green. A purple suit.

Colorful socks.

I need new shoes.

Goons! Steal some shoes. Nice ones.

Now get out.

Some laughing _gas._

The Bat…oh, the Bat.

He's just like me, isn't he?

An outcast. Oh, he's so _fun, fun, fun._

_What _would I do without him?

He's strong. Thinks. So _in-co-rrup-tible._

He's all about justice and this _city._

Let's draw some bats.

Where's that black crayon…

Ah, here it is.

A bat. A _symbol._

* * *

_**When I wrote this, I just thought of what goes on through Joker's head. I knew that his thoughts can never be fully grasped and written as a whole first-person story, but things like this are like a "sneak peak" of some sort. It's a combination of what he sees, what he says, and what he thinks. **_

_**Please leave your thoughts! I'd really, really, really like some feedback .**_

_**P.S. For anyone that doesn't know what nitrous oxide is, it's that "laughing gas" everyone talks about. Who better to use it than the Joker?**_


	4. Doodles

**_Hello everyone!_**

**_A random drabble with no word limits. A young Rachel. A bit of fluff. Just a tad. Enjoy._**

* * *

The sunlight poured in through the glass windows onto to the wooden school desks and the shiny, healthy hair of children's' heads.

The teacher was chattering away and not making eye contact with any of the students, as if talking to herself. She drew words and definitions with the white, powdery chalk onto the dark-green board.

The boys and girls followed the lecture as much as they could before their attention spam ran and hid behind a pretty bird chirping out the window, or in between the fingers twirling the pencils desperate to be used.

Rachel was a good girl, though. Taking notes in her wrinkled little composition notebook. That's what it looked like, at least.

But her pencil only wished to express protest at what it could not control.

The hand maneuvered it across the thin, smooth pages.

It drew a heart. Then, two words and a symbol inside the unsymmetrical shape.

_Bruce + Rachel._

She placed the eraser-tip of the writing tool against her chin, thinking.

_It needs something else..._

Suddenly, her eyes lit up. _Ah. I know._

Quickly, she brought the pencil down in eagerness.

She wrote a seven-letter word below the tip of the heart in amateur but clear cursive letters.

_F-o-r-e-v-e-r._

_We'll always be together,_ Rachel thought. _Always._

* * *

_**Oh, the irony. Sadly for her, "forever" was a very short time...**_


	5. Batman Begins

_**Disclaimer: title obviously not mine. But it fits with what this piece is about.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

"They're making a movie about you, Master Bruce."

"Yeah?"

Alfred nodded. "They have this chap named, uh, Christopher Nolan directing it. He seems to be a big fan of yours- of Batman, at least. He's even going through with your 'symbol' idea."

This piqued Bruce's interest. "Really? And who do they have playing me?"

"Christian Bale, sir."

A look of disbelief passed over the young man's face. "What? That guy? The freak from _American Psycho?_ No way."

Alfred expected this reaction and tried not to smile. "Frankly, he looks just like you, sir."

"I'm suing."

"He's got the same hair and eyes, and your noses is only slightly larger than-"

"This is ridiculous, Alfred. We look nothing alike." Bruce waved one hand up in the air in exasperation. Giving up on the conversation, he began to walk away.

Alfred paused before replying, again suppressing a smile. He had one more thing to add that might catch Bruce's interest.

"Rachel thinks he's quite attractive."

The stubborn billionaire stopped in his tracks. A frown appeared on his countenance.

"...She does?"

Alfred tried to put on a serious expression when Bruce looked back at him.

"Oh, very much sir. She thinks he's-what was that word she used? Oh, yes- _hot._"

Bruce blinked. After a few seconds of staring at his butler in disbelief, he approached a nearby mirror hanging on the wall. He straightened up and fixed his tie, observing his facial features carefully.

"I-I guess he's not a bad choice."

Alfred finally smiled. "Not at all, Master Bruce." He walked towards the door to leave the room.

"Alfred?"

The butler turned. "Yes, sir?"

"Make sure we get V.I.P passes to the premiere."


	6. Cats and Knives

**_And here...we...go!_**

* * *

"Oh, Catwoman, look at you!" He made a mock grimace, his brows furrowing together while his tongue ran against his cheek, slowly making its way to the yellowish teeth. "Get in a fight with another stray cat? Or a_rod_e_nt_, perhaps?"

The fact that he was enjoying this clearly showed in his eyes. The dark orbs practically shone with pleasure, horrid and disgusting pleasure. Feeling anger seep through her veins, she spoke.

"Enough of your games, Joker."

Her tone was demanding. Good. Maybe it'll show him that she wasn't as weak of an opponent as he thought. She knew he was trying to stall her for as long as he could, entertaining himself at the thought that somewhere, Batman was witnessing a scene where everything he fought for was crumbling to pieces. An injustice she herself could spit at. The Joker was a cruel man, but she would just have to play crueler.

Deciding it would be more efficient to appear calm, she straightened her back and slowed her breathing. "I know you have him. And now that you had your fun with him, it's time to hand him over."

She knew it wasn't something he'd like to hear. Batman was his most prized possession now. But what did she care? The fact that this clown had the upper hand made her feel uneasy. She might've taken part in dirty crimes herself, but it didn't mean she would allow Gotham to be run by a psychopath.

"Now," the Joker popped his lips and cocked his head sideways, frowning further, "that's not playing fair. I haven't even _started _with _him_. You see, Bats _knew_ what he was sacrificing. I'm afraid," slowly, his gloved hand started to reach into his trench coat pocket, "kitty's going to have to find another ball to play with." The switchblade was already out of its hiding, and with a small click, he flipped it open. The lights from above reflected threateningly off the blade, making Catwoman's stomach twist up into knots. But none of it showed on her face.

He took a few steps closer, playing the switchblade between his fingers. He felt the adrenaline surge through his body. That's how it always was before a kill, before he got to carve those beautiful Glasgow smiles on people's faces. It was always a wonder to the Joker when Catwoman would meet her final end, but it would be a much more interesting twist if _he_ was the one to do it. She was just always so quick to get away, so flexible with that strong, slim body. He took a look now at the leather suit that pressed tightly against her skin, not hiding a single curve. It would almost be a shame to kill such a figure. But he knew it had to be done. Not now, but eventually. After the big event took place, killing her would be the perfect end to his show. But at the present moment, he needed her alive.

His reason for wanting to get rid of her was this: Although she could never beat him in a fight for Gotham, he knew she presented a challenge. She had grown too close to Batman; you could almost say they were_accomplices_. Even though she led a life of robberies and Batman a life of justice, Joker couldn't help but notice their uncanny similarities. Even the black of their costumes, as dark as night, defined them as similar. This angered him. The thought made him grind his teeth together and powered his need to finish her.

"You can't kill me with your little knife," Catwoman practically hissed, annoyed. Taking a deep breath, she dared to take a step towards him.

At this, Joker's smile stretched wide. He was three long steps away from her now. If he lunged from this distance, he would be able to catch anyone who didn't have the experience to slip away. But she wasn't an amateur. Her reaction would be as fast as lighting and give him no chance to catch her. Even if he did, the knife would do no good. She was a skilled fighter. But he already knew that.

With a dangerously low tone, almost inaudible, he said, "You're right." Sighing, he closed the knife and placed it back in his pocket, as if in defeat. "You're too fast for a knife like mine. I have to _catch _you first." He stretched out the "catch" and started nodding his head as he said it.

At these words, Catwoman knew she was in trouble. She quickly reached for the gun in her holster and pushed down the safety button to allow her to shoot. "Tell me where he is _now,_ or I shoot."

But Joker simply laughed. "Shoot?" He took a step forward, crossing one leg in front of the other. "Me first."

At this, Catwoman heard something whizz in her direction and felt a stinging pain in her upper-left arm. She turned her head to see that the henchman she had knocked out earlier was in fact fully conscious and had a gun aimed right at her. But she didn't need to worry about the gun anymore, because it had already made its impact.

And it wasn't with a bullet. It was with a dart.

Her head began spinning and she collapsed to her knees, suddenly weak. With her gun still in her right hand, she used whatever strength she had left in her left hand to take out the dart and throw it in the direction of the shooter, who was now standing and had his gun resting on his shoulder.

"You tricked me," Catwoman spat, now with both her arms leaning on the floor in front of her for support. "You tricked me, you bastard." It was obviously a tranquilizer dart. She would be dead to the world in a matter of minutes.

Joker, who had slowly approached her as she was having her downfall, crouched down and placed one gloved hand on her cheek. "I _told_ you he was mine. I _told_ you you shouldn't meddle. But you didn't listen to me. And although I admire that kind of," and here, he growled the word "anarchy," "…I have to keep you out of my way. Because, you know, that's what they have to do to animals that lose control. _Tranquilize _them."

His countenance was that of a mocking pity, but his voice was completely serious and threatening.

Catwoman would've gladly slapped away his hand by now if she thought it was going to have any effect, but it wasn't. Besides, she knew she shouldn't waste her energy. She could only lift up her gaze and stare at the man who now held complete and utter power over her. _I shouldn't have been so stupid,_she thought. _I should've killed him when I had the chance. He wouldn't have done anything-_couldn't _have done anything without being there to watch everyone suffer._

But Joker could do anything to _her_ now. Reveal her identity. Kill her. Even worse: torture her. If Batman escaped and discovered that she had been captured, it would only put more weight on his shoulders. She knew that. She knew that all his efforts would go to waste because of her. She had to do something.

As if he had read part of her thoughts, he said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Not ye_t_. Feel better now, hmm?", obviously aware that she wasn't feeling better at all.

Her arms were now shaking madly, ready to collapse. She was breathing hard and felt sweat gather on her forehead. It was only a matter of minutes until she would be completely knocked out.

"Not gonna say anything?" he asked, his voice filled with poisonous honey. "Well, I'll get back to you."

He patted her cheek before standing up straight and stretching his arms. He walked over to the trapezoid-shaped wooden table and started putting together his machine gun while humming a tune. His henchman asked him something, but all definite sounds became muffled in Catwoman's ears.

She still had her gun in her hand. _Maybe I could still shoot him, _she thought. _But not in this position._

She slowly lowered herself to lie down, putting the pressure off her arms. Taking a few more deep breaths, she looked at the Joker, who was fully engaged in his art. The henchman seemed to be assisting him. She was forgotten.

Every ounce of energy Catwoman had, she mustered it. She gripped the gun as tightly as she could, and slowly started to raise her shaking hand. She knew the chances of her shot killing the Joker was impossible; she couldn't make a good aim with the state she was in, but she had to try.

The henchman threw a glance at her, and then looked back to what he was occupied with. A split second later, when his eyes had widened and he turned his head abruptly to look at the masked woman aiming the gun, it was already too late.

As the shot was fired, Catwoman's occupied hand dropped limply at her side, and everything in her vision went black.

* * *

**_I know some of you are quite confused right now. You probably feel like you've just grabbed a random book, turned to the middle, and started reading. Truth be told, this was just a random idea that came to my head, and usually, such ideas are the climatic type; by this I mean an idea that includes things that would happen at or near the climax, so obviously, this is why there's no real beginning or end here. I know it's incomplete, and I'm sorry if this may bother you! I advise you to leave all the unanswered questions to the imagination, like what happened to Batman, for example._**

**_I really hope you enjoyed it. I have a lil' continuation of it, so maybe you wouldn't mind the idea of a Part II?_**


	7. Mad Love

**_Happy Friday!_**

* * *

**Mad Love**

Blade at the throat,

grip on the knife,

smile on one cheek,

threatening a life.

Fear in her eyes,

looking at his,

opaque darkness,

and what lay beneath.

He told her to listen

to a tale of deep scars,

to see what he saw

when the wounds

were still raw.

And the funny thing was

that she listened, too.

Not just by ears,

like the rest of them do.

Her heartbeat was slower,

the breathing steady.

A grasp of interest

held her ready.

The eyes were red, but

the tears diminished.

She didn't speak

until he finished.

"You understand now?"

The clown laughed, demented; mad.

"I'm not crazy;

the world is just sad."

He turned away,

feeling no triumph.

He'd kill her now,

but his message was lost.

A weak grasp on his shoulder

caught him off guard.

He turned around,

but her face was not hard.

"You're not crazy;

I know what you feel."

Her voice held empathy,

but it did not seem real.

He grinned with smug,

and drew the knife across her lips.

The sharp blade made marks

that he knew wouldn't fade.

It was test, a trick

to prove she was lying.

He thought he had won

as she started crying.

She fell with a gasp,

her chest moving fast.

As she became panicked,

her words became rasp.

"You're sick, not well,

I understand," she said, still persistent.

"But I want you to know,

it's okay, Mister J."

His eyes widened, but

amused, he just laughed.

Funny how things are,

how they turn out to be.

At the end of the day,

she's as crazy as me!

* * *

**_I hope you caught on that the poem was about Joker and Harley Quinn. I love those two to pieces. _**

**_To my annoyance, I couldn't save the poem in the way I wanted it to be structured. There were supposed to be four lines in the first two stanzas, five in the third, four in stanzas four to eleven, and six in stanza twelve. For some reason, I couldn't save it like that._**

**_Structure is very important in a poem, as you may know. If you want to read it the way I wrote it, just imagine the divisions I mentioned._**

**_Apart from that little inconvenience, I want to say that I hope you enjoyed it!_**

**_P.S. The title of the poem isn't mine. It's taken from a comic book by the title of _****The Batman Adventures: Mad Love****_. I know, I know. Another stolen title! Ah! But I think it works, don't you?_**


	8. No Surprises

_**It's been a while since I updated. School has been keeping me busy and I've also failed to find inspiration.**_

_**But I've finally found it again.**_

_**I was thinking back to the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, "No Surprises" by **_**Radiohead. ****_It's quite a lovely song. And what I noticed about the lyrics is how...fitting they are to Bruce Wayne's/Batman's life. And how I should write something about that, with the the lyrics coinciding. I did. I want to make it clear now that I incorporated the song lyrics into my writing and obviously do not own them. _**

**_Enjoy :) _**

**_P.S. Listen to the song when reading. _**

**_P.S.S. This takes place sometime during the Dark Knight. _**

**_P.S.S.S. I'm not even sure what I wrote.  
_**

* * *

_A heart that's full up like a landfill_

He sits immobile in his armchair, staring at nothing.

_A job that slowly kills you_

Everything is gray outside. The pillows in the sky. The earth. The air.

The fresh bruises from last night ache the parts of his body under pressure from sitting down. A few are visible on his legs, which his bathrobe fails to cover. Some are a mix of highlighter yellow and moldy green; those are the old ones. Unappealing but not too noticeable. Accustomed to.

_Bruises that won't heal_

Some are rich purple. A dark purple, like fresh, shiny wine stains soaked through pristine bedsheets. Those are the new ones. The ugliest ones. He resembles a white dog with a plethora of colored splotches.

Alfred wasn't home. He wanted to buy some groceries.

_"Think you can do a few minutes without me, Master Wayne?" _

_He had just woken up after a hard night. Would he be alright? _

_He nodded languidly. "Yeah, you go ahead." _

_Alfred opened the front door. As he placed one foot past the threshold, he took one final look at Bruce. _

_And he wished he hadn't. _

_Because, by God, he'd never seen a more despondent face. _

Bruce thought he might sit down for a while. He's tired.

So tired.

Alfred gave him a strange look this morning. Right before he stepped out the door, it's as if he wanted to say-

_You look so tired unhappy _

-something. Something like, "When will this end?"

_Bring down the government_

_They don't, they don't speak for us_

Bruce doesn't know. He doesn't know. But as long as the corrupt were lurking in the city, as long as he was needed, he wouldn't stop.

Alfred talked about how promising and happy life would be when it was all over.

_I'll take a quite life_

But would it? After everything-

"-it wouldn't be easy to 'get back into the swing of things', Alfred," he mutters the rest of his thought to himself. Despite how adamant he acts, however, he knows Alfred is right. He also knows, although the butler hadn't expressed the thought, that it is a poisonous job.

_A handshake of carbon monoxide_

A job that might ruin him. But he is willing to take that risk. Like Harvey. Like Gordon. And maybe, one day, Gotham wouldn't need him anymore. And Rachel would be waiting. He closes his eyes, imagining it.

_No alarms and no surprises _

_No alarms and no surprises_

There isn't a sound throughout the house to disturb him.

_Silent_

He only hears the even inhales and exhales of his breath.

_Silent_

He tries not to think about the upcoming night. He tries not to think about the previous night.

He _tries. _But his grasp on hope is like a small, fragile light in a sea of darkness. It's not strong enough. It doesn't satisfy.

His eyes open. He realizes that he doesn't remember a life before the mask. Well, of course he remembers the _images, _but not the _feelings. _

_This is my final fit_

Everyone has those moments when their caught up in unusual or unfamiliar feelings. After a book. After a movie. After a revelation.

But it all goes away, and they return to their regular cycle of emotions. Familiar. More comfortable. More real.

_Where am I? _Bruce thinks._ Why haven't I come back? _

He's been in his irregular pack of emotions for a while now. He's been in this_ world_ for a while now.

It's like he was _sleepwalking _every night.

Dreams have a specific recipe, you know.

They're where you're not _you._

Where _unimaginable things_ happen.

Fast.

And when you wake up-

_My final bellyache_

-you're tired.

You can't open your eyes. Not yet.

You still _feel _the dream.

You hear the piercing, incessant ringing of the alarm-

_With no alarms and no surprises_

-and your arm searches for it blindly; desperately.

You think back to the dream-

_No alarms and no surprises_

-and try to recollect what it was all about but it slips-

_No alarms-_

-slips-

_-and no surprises-_

-slips-

_-please_

-away.

You turn the bloody ringer off. Finally.

You get out of bed and Alfred tells you he's going out for groceries and then you find yourself with nothing to do. Eventually, you wander into one the offices in the manor and sit yourself in that dust-gathering (Alfred doesn't make visits to unused rooms weekly), pretentious and uncomfortable piece of furniture called the _armchair. _And you try to remember that dream. You try to make sense of what was real and what was not.

That's where dreams get you.

He sits, his back aching.

The room is illuminated by the light (the gray light) coming from the window. His attention is briefly caught by the waltzing dust in the air, slowing undulating down.

_Such a pretty house_

Hour by hour it layers itself onto the same dark wood of the floor, table, drawer chests and shelves, as well as the miscellaneous objects upon them. The smooth, solid and deep-colored covers of the books. Papers. The soft, faded carpet.

_And such a pretty garden_

It settles on Bruce. He's showering in filth.

_No alarms and no surprises_

And he wonders when enough will gather to make him sick.

_(let me out of here)_

He wonders if, maybe, one little speck of it might sneak into his throat and choke him.

_No alarms and no surprises_

Would he mind?

_(let me out of here)_

His eyes are getting heavy and he keeps wondering.

_No alarms-_

He keeps wondering...

_-and no surprises_

He keeps wondering...

_-please._


	9. Too Late

**_Well, this was long overdue._**

**_I had gotten so caught up in everything that I selfishness forgot to update. There's no real excuse for me forgetting, but I hope you will forgive me, or at least enjoy this entry enough to not hate me._**

**_There's a bit of angst in this one. I don't know where it came from. Post TDK._**

* * *

"Keep your eyes on the clock, beautiful," he said, pointing a gloved hand. "Don't want you to miss the _show._"

It glared "7:00" in red.

She replied with a muffled scream, the tape on her mouth preventing a real one.

"Oh, I can tell you're already excited. Just like _me._"A smile of yellow teeth stretched over his face. "But we have to be patient."

She turned her face away from the bomb, not wanting to know when her last second would come to pass.

A mistake.

He grasped her chin and turned it roughly in the direction of the death-clock.

"_Look _at _it."_

Tears welled up in her eyes. But she did not disobey.

She had long ago stopped trying to free her hands and feet from the rope that tied her to a chair. It only irritated her skin further and she knew it was hopeless.

More tears. Her body was shaking vehemently.

"I left them a little message." He nodded his head idly. "But it looks like your _heroes _at the Police Department are off for the day!" He laughed a laugh so sinister it sent chills down her spine. It was a hyena laugh.

_Gordon is going after the others. I have to save her._

"And Batman," here he momentarily closed his eyes sucked on the inside of his cheeks, almost in ecstasy, "it looks like he doesn't want to save anyone in the daytime." His voice had gotten unfathomably deep. He opened his eyes halfway. "Not even a pretty _girl_ like you."

_She's barely past adolescence..._

There were six minutes left.

She was sobbing hysterically. She breathed in from the nose in quick, sharp snippets. Her eyes were swollen and red.

"Hey." He reached out his hand and touched her cheek gingerly. With his other hand he fumbled around for his switchblade. Once he had it securely in his hand, he pulled it out and flicked it open. She closed her eyes and screamed again.

He placed the sharp teeth of the metal against one cheek. Her tears began to gather at the edge.

"Ya wanna know how I got these scars?"

_Where is she? _

"_Batman _didn't save me either."

_Where is she?_

Five minutes.

"I was small, and had fallen into a well. And there were _bats _inside."

_The place looks..._

"I was _terrified _and I called out to Batman. So he could _save me._"

_...familiar._

"The bats got closer." He mimicked a crawling motion with one hand, still keeping the other one with the blade firmly in place at her skin. "They crawled all over me and said, '_Why so serious__?_' They wanted me to _smile_ and _stop screaming_. So they started chewing away at my face. They kept chewing to get what they wanted."

Four minutes.

All of a sudden, the girl was motionless. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head.

_250 52 Street. That's what he said. _

Her abuser didn't seem to notice. "See, Batman didn't save me. And _n__ow _I'm always smiling!"

The girl had makeup caked over her face now, a mirror to the man facing her.

_Yes. It's the place._

Without warning, he stood up briskly. He started frantically looking around the room, as if suddenly enchanted by an invisible bird flying in the air.

"Where are you, _Batman_?"

_Doesn't he see me? _

"It's over, Joker."

Finally, the clown had spotted him where he had just entered through the door. He burst out laughing, doubling over in the process and putting one hand against the wall for support, as if it was the most hysterical thing in the world.

Recovering from his fit, he gasped, "No, no, no, no. The show has only just begun." And he dived into another sea of hysteria.

_He's wasting my time._

Without another moment's thought, he lunged across the room and attacked.

Three minutes.

"Does Harvey know about you and his little bunny?"

He smashed his head into the wall. The laughter wouldn't stop.

"Best not waste your time because there's only _two minutes_ left."

He punched him square in the jaw. It was strange. He didn't feel the impact in his hand. No matter. He could see the man was soon to slip into unconsciousness. With a growl he snatched the Joker's shirt with two hands and lifted him up until his feet dangled in the air.

Then, he remembered the girl in the chair.

He whisked his head around. But in the chair sat not the girl. In the chair sat-

"Rachel."

She looked at him with imploring eyes. They were brimmed with tears.

"Bruce, _please. _Don't do this."

He dropped the clown and was by her side in an instant, trying the ropes.

"Bruce, you can't forget Harvey."

He looked her straight in the eyes and his throat went dry. Did she not know?

Although reluctant, he managed to get the words out.

"Rachel, Harvey is gone. We have to get out, there's still-"

"No, no. I can't go without Harvey, don't you see?"

With a speed he couldn't comprehend, he no longer felt urgency. He felt anger.

"Harvey's _dead_, Rachel! He's _dead!_"

His Batman suit had gone. He suddenly felt naked, although he was still wearing normal clothing.

Somewhere, a mocking voice spoke up, the sound contorted as if from a blow horn. "_One minute."_

Sensing the urgency of the situation, he once again took up the task of untying the ropes snaked around Rachel's body.

"You can't save me. It's too late now."

"It's not too late. We'll make it out alive. It's okay."

Rachel shook her head, a small, sad smile forming on her lips. "Always were the optimist."

He was still looking for the ends of the rope. His heart slowly began to sink as each second past and he couldn't find them.

"I gave him an answer, you know."

_Goddammit, where's the knot?!_

"I told him-"

Ten seconds.

_No._

"Rachel, I-"

"I told him 'Yes'."

_No._

Five.

The battle was over.

He touched her cheek gently.

"Rachel..."

Four.

He knew it was no use now. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. She turned her head sideways and softly kissed the inside of his hand.

Three.

"It's for the best, Bruce."

Two.

He closed his eyes.

_One._

* * *

_**If you're confused, I think the most important thing to know is this:**_

_**It's all a dream. Bruce's dream. That's why things stop making sense a few sentences in. Let that sink in for a moment ;)**_

_**If you're still confused after that little piece of information, feel free to say so in a review/PM me. I'll answer all your questions. **_

_**With that, I want to thank you **_**so much _for reading!_**

**_Have a great day!_**


	10. All This Company

**_Surprise!_**

* * *

It was another party.

You would think he'd make some friends. Be happier with the company. There were so many people.

You would _think _that.

But he would tune out their voices. Think of the evils that could've been unfolding in the city. Screams that could be calmed. Scum to be brought down. The city called him…whispered in his ear…_come…come, Ba-t-man, come. _Seductively. Temptingly.

_Bruce…Wayne…Bruce…Bruce Wayne!_

_"BRUCE WAYNE!"_

He was startled that someone had actually called his name. Snapping out of his trance to see who the speaker was, he found it to be a man he didn't know. A smiling stranger. A stranger from a crowd of strangers.

_Who are these people, Alfred? _He thought.

The unfamiliar man came up to him and patted him on the back like they were good old friends. It was oh-what-a-nice-party-Bruce-you-got-a-nice-house comments with thank-you-very-much-I'm-glad-you're-enjoying-it-nice-to-see-you responses.

Just like always. Routine. Part of the script. Occasional ad-libbing to fit the circumstances of the day.

But his mind was somewhere else. The shadows of Gotham. The streets. The rooftops. The adrenaline rushes.

And then he woke up and felt the bruises from those previous nights. And there was Alfred with the breakfast and the bags of ice.

"Good morning, Master Wayne."

"Morning, Alfred."

Rachel was right.

Bruce is the mask.


	11. Liberation

**_Since I promised I would write about a variety of characters in _Gotham Tales _and have only written about a limited amount,_ _I took the request of a reviewer,_ MissBellatrixx24,_ and wrote a little something about one of the most famous villains, Zsasz. He does briefly show up in Nolan's Batman films but is never really referenced or given importance_****_._**

**_ Pay heed to this warning: I had little foreknowledge of him before I decided to write this and drew inspiration from what I managed to read on Wikipedia. So, if this characterization of him does not meet your expectations, forgive me. I did as best as I could, and, in the process, had fun with it. I hope I managed to do the character some justice._**

**_I thank _MissBellatrixx24 _for her suggestion!_**

**_With that, I hope you enjoy. _**

* * *

He saw her days before she saw him.

It was daylight the first time.

He couldn't afford making his approach without the assistance of the dark night.

So he waited.

* * *

It was eight o'clock when she returned from the direction she came.

Now it was pitch black. Save for the lamp posts.

They weren't alone. There were apartment buildings all around. There was no one outside at the moment, but this wasn't the Narrows.

Someone might actually call for help.

* * *

He followed her well.

He did bump into a trash can at one point, but she didn't hear it.

Good.

* * *

He stopped a few feet away when he saw her enter what looked to be like yet another apartment building.

The night's journey was over.

He went into an alley that offered a good view of her place of residence.

Drifting in and out of sleep, he waited until she came out again.

He waited all night long.

* * *

His eyes were bloodshot and his head was fuzzy, but he was ready.

The moment she stepped outside the adrenaline shot through his veins.

He was excited. But it would be days before he would get _real _excited.

The pattern continued.

* * *

Finally, finally, the moment came.

She changed direction. And to the right place.

The _Narrows. _

What _luck_.

* * *

Greeted by a woman. A friend, probably.

She came in the day, came out in the night.

He knew it was fate.

He was reminded, then, that it was his job.

To free her.

To _free her._

* * *

She was tense leaving.

No matter.

He would soon reassure her that she would have no reason to be.

* * *

He waited until she was a few blocks away from the house she exited.

Wouldn't want to risk an act of meaningless loyalty.

Then it was time. He picked up the pace.

A few feet closer and she noticed.

The unfortunate thing about zombies is that they walk fast.

And when they're scared, they run.

He just had to run faster.

* * *

She made the mistake of going into an alley.

No one would see her there. No one would help her.

She screamed a riot.

But she was weak.

First, they wrestled to the ground.

It only took a few seconds for him to pin her down.

Then he took out his knife and held it against her neck.

She stopped screaming.

"Tonight, you'll be free. And I'll even give you a chance to thank me for your _liberation._"

His eyes widened and he stared at her in expectation.

"Well?"

She continued to choke on her sobs in reply.

He pressed the knife deeper into her neck.

She gasped loudly, and, stupidly, blurted out-

"T-Thank you."

At this, he cackled.

"You think that'll save you, don't you? Heh... humans disappoint me." His face contorted into anger. "I wanted you to _mean _it."

And with that, he drove the knife through her throat.

* * *

He set her up against a dumpster and meticulously positioned her into a standing position, using nearby broken crates and other useless trash. Once he completed the job, he grabbed the knife.

Over the days, he noticed a tattoo on her ankle. Today he saw it was a dove.

_Funny, _he thought, _she broke as easily as one. _

He lifted up his foot and leaned against a brick wall for support.

A marker of death, he carved a line on his ankle.

A sensitive area.

The fluorescence lights of the lamp posts reflected off the blood.

* * *

Another job well done.


	12. Cat Girl

**_A drabble and a half._**

**_Indulge. ;-)_**

* * *

"Heeere, kitty!"

It's midnight-black fur glistened in the morning sun. It turned it's head and froze, startled by her voice.

"Come 'ere," she called again, voice silky smooth.

The cat's emerald eyes stayed fixated on her, as if contemplating.

"Aw, caaat!"

For a few seconds longer they continued to simply stare at each other.

Finally, the cat completely turned in her direction and ever-so-slowly approached.

A huge smile spread across her face.

She reached out to pet it. It arched it's back for her hand in compliance.

"And you said it wouldn't come to me!" The girl shouted to her friend, who was watching from a few feet away, since she had complained he might scare it off.

In reply, he grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, Cat Girl."

She laughed.

"That's right, Bat Boy!"

"I hate bats!"

"I know. But they love _you._"


	13. One With the Night

**One With the Night**

The shadows are your friends.

The dark isn't scary or threatening.

It isn't mysterious or misguiding.

It conceals you.

It wraps you under its cloak and

keeps you safe.

In fact, you _are_ the dark.

You wear a cloak of your own,

one that is a black and goes with anything,

be it a secluded corner,

a gloomy alleyway, or

a barren rooftop.

Hiding in these crevices of the city is your area of expertise.

Where a normal citizen would stumble and fall or

pick up his pace as he travels through, fearing

a nonexistent enemy, you walk gracefully; smoothly;

a leaf following the current of a zephyr.

A natural.

More than anything,

you are a part of the _night. _

The covert affairs;

the stirring of nocturnal creatures

who can't afford to be seen in the day;

the beasts that hunt those vulnerable

when not under the protection of the daylight;

and the secrets whispered seductively into

the ears of nightfall.

* * *

**_Lines 1-6 make up the first stanza, 7-12 make up the second stanza, and the rest is the third stanza. Fanfiction . net isn't very nice when it comes to poem structure!_**

**_Very sorry for the lateness of the update. School exams have been bombarding me since it's the end of the school year and I've been a bit stressed and preoccupied. I am thankful to those who have been waiting to read this after such a long wait; patience is a virtue I highly respect. _**

**_ A lot of the responsibilities that prevented me from updating have eased themselves off my shoulders, so I don't have much excuses now. _****_Hopefully I can start updating sooner._**

**_I also hope that you liked the poem. _**

**_With that, I wish you a good day! _**


	14. Poison Ivy

**_A one-shot featuring Poison Ivy and another favorite. _**

**_Enjoy! ;)_**

* * *

Cautiously, Poison Ivy sidestepped the gigantic heap of rubble in the middle of the street. Her eyes desperately searched around for any spot of green amongst the grey but there was none. A blanket of dust swirled around the area, making things slightly foggy. Poison Ivy knew she would have to go deeper if she had any hope of finding plant life in the collapsed building.

When she had seen it fall and heard the rumble, she raised her eyebrows, amused but not surprised. She was only a few blocks away and decided to come and investigate before the Gotham Police (or better yet, Batman) arrived.

There was nothing to suggest the cause of the collapse. No living soul was around, there was no fire, and there was no noise. Suspicious. The surrounding buildings, too, seemed to be deserted. No one was looking out the window out of curiosity or shock.

Taking the risk, Poison Ivy left the unscathed periphery and started to climb over the cement boulders. Immediately, the grey dust began to cover her, and she coughed as some of it entered her lungs.

Looking around, she was confirmed that, no, there was no plant life. She mainly saw building material; drills, nails, hammers, ladders, bricks, and blocks of wood, among many other similar items, were scattered around, some broken and some in good shape. They were covered in the grey powder of the cement.

_No bodies, _Ivy noted. The place must've been vacant when it collapsed.

Suddenly, she heard a moan.

"J..."

She twisted her head around to the source of the sound and demanded, "Who's there?"

No reply.

She tried to make out if someone _was _there but couldn't. It was far too foggy. Feeling threatened by not being able to detect a possible threat, Ivy began to back away. For a moment, though, she could've sworn she saw a slight movement from amongst the debris from where the source of the noise came. Maybe there _was_ someone in the building.

Again, there was a moan. "J? Is that you? Oh, please, help me!"

Poison Ivy froze. Something shifted amongst the rubble again as the words were spoken and she knew it was a person. A female, obvious from the high pitch of voice. Asking for help.

For a moment, she contemplated. This couldn't really be a trap. It wasn't designed like one and the chances were simply highly, highly unlikely. The only person that really wanted to catch her was Batman, and a dramatic building collapse certainly wasn't his style. So the victim was real. She wasn't familiar to her by sound of voice, so why should she help?

"I'm going to die!" Ivy could hear the person sob. She almost rolled her eyes. Definitely some sort of melodramatic.

But she really had nothing else to do at the moment. And it wouldn't kill her to possibly help someone who might return the favor later.

Aw, what the hell.

Ivy approached the place where she saw movement and at first spotted only a shock of blood red and black. When she was standing right by the woman, she saw that the colors were part of some skin-tight pants she was wearing, but the rest of her was wedged under one, huge piece of wall.

"Who's there?"

Poison Ivy squatted down, grabbed the wall, and, with a few grunts, began to lift. "Help," she replied.

The wall was heavy. She managed to lift it up a few inches, but she didn't know if she could lift further. Her muscles were strained and she had to clench her teeth. "Can you crawl out from under there?" she yelled.

The feet shuffled and there was a pause. "I- I'll try. I think I broke my ribs and arm or somethin'."

"Well hurry up, this wall isn't going to lift itself!" Ivy snarled. Her biceps were burning.

Slowly, a body began to slide from under the wall, revealing itself to be dressed in whole skin-tight red and black one-piece costume. Finally, a head emerged too, and the woman was completely resurfaced. Ivy immediately dropped the weight she was holding and gasped. "Shit."

Both females were panting, obviously tired from the bodily strain. Ivy took the moment to observe who she had found.

The first thing she noticed was the costume. It wasn't just skin-tight pants, after all. It revealed a lean figure with moderate womanly curves. It obviously showed that this girl had a bit of risky taste, but nothing too racy. In fact, in was similar to Ivy's own attire, which was interesting because Ivy's attire was not that of a regular citizen. Who was she?

A shock of blonde hair, though dirty, messy and tangled, was nested on her head. It didn't appear to be the natural hair color, but a dye.

Her eyes were closed shut and her face was contorted in pain. She groaned and was the first to speak up. "Everything hurts!"

"Well, the damn building collapsed. It's a wonder you aren't dead."

"Oh, no, no, J would never want me _dead. _He obviously pushed the wall on me so I wouldn't get hurt when the building fell."

Ivy frowned, confused. She didn't know who "J" was but was more concerned with something else. "You were under the wall _before _this building fell?"

"Well, sure, how else could I have survived? 'Course, I'm still beat up quite bad and-" she stopped short and let out a yelp, having just touched the place where her ribs were with one hand. "Yes, ribs definitely broken."

Poison Ivy sighed. "I suppose you want me to drag you to the hospital."

The sprawled blonde's eyes snapped open, and Ivy saw that they were a light shade of blue. "No! No, that won't be necessary," she laughed nervously, immediately regretting it afterwards since it caused her pain. "Oh!"

"Why not? Scared of the doctor?" Ivy looked at the woman's costume once more and had a strange feeling that she had seen it before. "What's your name, anyway?"

The girl swallowed and met Ivy's gaze, suddenly smiling. "Harley. Harley Quinn. Pleased to meet cha'."

Then it hit Ivy. Not too long ago, she had seen the front page of a newspaper that had a large, blurry picture of the Joker caught in the act of robbing a bank, probably from a surveillance camera. Next to him was _her, _the girl on the floor. The title had said something like "THE NOTORIOUS JOKER FINDS A NEW ASSISTANT." They hadn't given her a name, but she was sure this was the girl. The costume matched, though in the picture, she also had a mask on.

Poison Ivy grinned wickedly. "Well, well, well, so _that's _the name of Joker's new masked accomplice. Now I see why you don't want to go to a hospital; you're a wanted woman!"

Harley looked at her, her expression suddenly scared. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please, the costume says it all, and there's not many people in this city that would be caught wearing it."

"Hey! There's nothin' wrong with it!"

Ivy shrugged. "I never said there was."

Harley glared at her for a moment, as if trying to see if she should trust her or not. "Fine. Guilty as charged. But don't you _dare _rat me out or I'll-"

"The police aren't my friends, darling. Besides, it's none of my concern what you do with your time."

The smile returned to Harley's face. "Well, I like you, then. What's your name?"

"I go by Poison Ivy."

"An odd name."

"As opposed to 'Harley Quinn'? Like 'harlequin', the jester?"

"Mr. J likes it."

Poison Ivy sneered at the mention of "Mr. J," now knowing she meant the Joker. She wasn't particularly a fan of him. He had, on numerous occasions, injured acres of vegetation while carrying out some senseless, theatrical plans to attract Batman. She kept quite, though, more interested in what he had to do with Harley. "You two have a common interest to wreak havoc in Gotham or something?"

Quinn giggled. "Sort of. We're partners in crime."

"But...he tried to kill you?"

Harley's expression became serious again. "Well...we had a little fight, and he tends to be a bit temperamental on occasions..."

"So he collapsed a _building _on you?" Ivy scoffed.

Harley slightly wriggled in her place on the floor. "Look, are you going to leave me lying here all day? I can't move much, and the police will be coming soon, too, so I suggest we get out of here."

Poison Ivy looked around suddenly, not believing she had forgotten that the fall of the building would attract attention and would most definitely bring the police. "You're right." She leaned down, put her arms under Harley's back, and lifted her. She was luckily pretty light. Harley wrapped one arm around Ivy's neck, cradling the other against her body. Ivy guessed it was the broken one she was talking about. It certainly looked like it because it was stained with blood and looked a bit deformed.

She walked out of the debris and then away from the area of interest.

"You have a peculiar costume, too, you know," Harley observed the forest-green one-piece Ivy was wearing, as well as the vine-like pattern protruding from it. "You a plant lover?"

Poison Ivy was becoming irritated. This girl was annoyingly chirpy and curious, and she could've sworn she was becoming heavier and heavier by the second. But she reminded herself that a criminal like Harley Quinn could definitely be an asset and held back the hurtful words. "You could say that."

Expecting some sort of weirded-out reaction, Ivy was slightly taken aback when Harley simply said, "That's cool." Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

After a few more minutes, Ivy reached her destination: a run-down, empty, four-story apartment building she had secretly turned into a greenhouse over the past few months. It was in a fairly desolate part of the city and owned by one of the less prominent mafia affiliates. Ivy had struck a deal with him to let her use the building with a fair monthly payment. Ivy had no problem getting the money, so she got what she asked for.

She laid Harley down by the door.

"You have the key?"

Ivy turned to a small, thin tree that sat in a pot by the door, looking quite of place. It looked like a regular tree, except that it had not just branches growing out of it, but bright-green vines. Ivy stepped in front of it, blocking it from Harley's view. Harley could've sworn she saw the vines move when Poison Ivy approached and heard a hiss that sounded much like a snake. She shuddered.

"_I _don't."

There was a slight rustling of leaves and then the jingle of keys. Ivy turned, holding a key chain with a set of keys attached.

"You let your plant hold your keys? Anyone could find that!"

"Not with my plant," Ivy said cryptically, winking.

Harley looked suspiciously at the little tree as Ivy stepped out of the way, and despite what she saw earlier, saw that it was still. She scrunched up her lips in thought before saying, "I bet you have a looot of secrets to tell."

Ivy took a deep breath, opened the door and picked up Harley. "And you'll probably discover a few of them while I bring you back to a functioning state."

Harley gave her a friendly, promising grin.

"I can keep secrets."

* * *

_**This was inspired by a bit of information on **_**Wikipedia**_** about how Poison Ivy first met Harley: **_

**"...Ivy finds Harley Quinn, who had almost been murdered by the Joker, among the debris of the earthquake and nurses her back to health. The two have been best friends and partners-in-crime ever since."**

_**Apart from the earthquake part, I followed the same plot line, so know that I did not make this up on my own and count this as my disclaimer. **_

_**This is my first time writing Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn; please forgive me if they don't seem in character to you and blame my inexperience with the characters. I made my own interpretation and just wrote what was going on in my head. I hope it was acceptable and enjoyable to read. I certainly enjoyed writing it. **_

_**Also, I hope the length of this post somewhat excuses the horrible lateness of it? *Cringes in guilt.* I was lacking in inspiration, so I put off writing Batman-related things until now. But I made no promises so I don't think I'm a completely horrible person. I'm still sorry, though! Will try my best for next time.**_

_**Oh, one last thing! I almost shamefully forgot. I thank **_**Harleen****Quinzel7654 _ for being the one to suggest I include Poison Ivy in one of the posts! I probably wouldn't even have considered it without her. Really, thank you. So sorry for almost forgetting. :) (Definitely another disclaimer!)_****  
**

_**I think that's all I have to say. **_

_**With that, I hope you have a nice day!**_


	15. Splitting at the Seams

The pressure was just _too much._

One by one, the seams split.

"I can't take it anymore, Jack."

You could hear the cloth stretching.

"Aw, c'mon, honey, we could work things out…" His voice was low and deep and scary.

_Rip. _

"No, please! God, no." She started backing away and went a-falling and a-tripping. Some glass broke.

"Let's put a smile on that _face." _He lunged and she screamed and he was strong and held her down. And the glass was sharp and clear and _useful. _

There was one string still holding the cloth together, like a child torn between its parents.

There was some wrestling and more screams from her. And slowly, slowly, it all died down. But now the wooden floor was wet and sticky with thick wine flowing from her body_. _

His voice was quite now. He took her face in his hands. "So much prettier with a smile…"

He ran his thumb from one cheek, across the lips, and onto the other cheek, smearing the blood that was on his hands.

"See? We could work things out…" His voice was quivering now. His eyes began to glisten with a wetness he didn't understand. Something shiny ran down his cheek.

And then…

The last string split with a deafening _snap. _

There was a waterfall of shiny wet things.

And gasps and moans and hitting and more blood. Not her blood.

And once that died down, too, he lay by her side.

One last whisper.

"I love you."

And the exhaustion really kicked in and he fell asleep like a child in a car, a child who has already been torn in half by those parents.


	16. The Morning in Gotham

_**I tried present tense. Ahem. I **_**tried.**

* * *

It's morning.

There's a cloudless sky outside and the city basks in all of the Sun's bright glory. Its warmth does not reach the Joker. Even if it did, he would not be conscious of it. He is asleep.

He lies on a stained, naked mattress tucked safely away at the corner of a room. There's only one window, glassless, but light is not permitted to pass through. A black, dusty cover with worn edges and a musty smell hangs carelessly over it, desperately clinging to the curtain rod above.

There are no lamps, and so he is enveloped in complete and total darkness.

He is fully clad in his everyday attire. The shoes, the pants, the vest, the coat- all there, retaining the heat of his body. He wouldn't bother with anything else. More than six hours of sleep are nonexistent, so why bother with a change of clothes? Besides, he always has to be prepared should any disturbance pop up and he has to get up and go. Or, most notably, to run.

The makeup on his face is too, untouched, and instead left smeared over the skin stretching from the expanse of his forehead to his upper neck. When he tosses around during the night, some of it smudges and mixes together into swirls of white, red and black, creating a more contorted face than the one he had originally constructed.

His hair is tousled into numerous green knots, and since he hasn't showered in a few days, begins to cover in a shiny grease.

Every now and then, he lets a sigh or a mutter escape through his slightly parted, mangled lips. Just as he does when he is awake, he works his mouth, provoking _clucks _that echo off the walls of the room. His tongue slithers out every now and then, wetting the scars and getting a taste of crimson lipstick.

But there are more uncommon and disturbing aspects of the Joker's sleep. Deep frowns are frequently etched in his features and he fusses around incessantly. There are instances where he thrashes around violently or growls like an angry dog.

Sometimes, he _screams. _

The sound is unknown to many. The Joker never screams _consciously_. If he is ever overcome with intense emotions or states of adrenaline, he usually conveys them with fits of maniacal laughter. But when he is deep in the dream state, he has no control over the sounds he evokes.

It is an unusual and frightening sound. It's indescribable intensity- the way it escalates into the piercing cries suggestive of being burned alive- would send ice-cold shivers down any person's spine and change the meaning of the word "fear."

He knows about it, though vaguely. Not it's nature or how it sounds, but only the fact that it exists. He knows when he sits up straight in some makeshift bed in an abandoned building or a run-down parking garage or an acceptable alley crevice in cold sweat, shaky and panting, that _something _had happened. Dark, fuzzy images flash through his mind of what had just disturbed him. Even with eyes wide open, his vision is oftentimes blurry for several seconds, unhelpful when he tries to remember where he is or survey the content of his surroundings. He is oftentimes awoken in the dead of night, which doesn't offer much assistance either.

In those brief moments of confusion and panic, he closes his eyes and shake his head. He then feels around with his hands clumsily and piques his ears in an attempt to figure out where he is. Oftentimes, after a moment or so, he remembers. Sometimes it takes a while for the thoughts to register. Those aren't pleasant moments.

These episodes, fortunately, are not chronic. Many nights he gets away with some shut-eye only partially or completely undisturbed. Or he just doesn't sleep.

Now is one of the lucky days. The previous day's events have taken their toll and he is dead to the world. There is no fiber in his body that has any desire to make aggressive movement. But his mind says otherwise. And he wakes up.

He isn't ready to open his eyes yet, but the heavy, deep breathing stops. He stays in his semi-fetal position, slowly progressing through semi-consciousness. Then, he lets out a yawn. It starts quietly and slowly until he releases a whole gust of breath with a deep moan. His muscles feel rusty when he shifts slightly, and he knows the stinging hip he's putting his weight on is bruised, most likely from the previous day.

After a few more seconds, he feels more or less conscious and capable of movement. He rolls over onto his back, his clothes rustling in the process, and stretches his hands and neck.

Finally, he cracks open his eyes.

It's almost as if he hasn't opened them, because only the sight of darkness is there to welcome him. Nevertheless, there's a slight sting that makes his eyelashes flutter, and he rubs his eyes to get rid of the crust that has formed around them. Then, he blinks a few more times, and, with a groan, springs into a sitting position.

Images of stained, grey walls float around in his head. Yes, yes, that's the exterior of the building he is in now. Doors off their hinges... broken windows... colorful graffiti... stumbling throw the hallways... wrapping a cover around some window to get rid of the annoying light...

Suddenly, everything clicks. He swings his legs off of the mattress, briskly stands, and takes three large strides to where the window is. He latches onto the cover, yanks it off, and the curtain rod comes crashing down to the floor along with it. Light pours into the room and he throws his hand up to shield his eyes.

"Mooorning, _Gotham._"

The Joker is awake.

* * *

**_Dear reader, if I made some error due to my lack of experience in writing in present tense, please let me know. I'll fix it immediately. I just thought I'd try something new for a change but I still feel unsure of whether I did it correctly or not. _**

**_Thanks to those who are reading and to those who are reviewing/following/favorite-ing._**

**_ I wish you all a wonderful day!  
_**


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